


You've got to hide your love away

by crayyyonn



Category: KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: M/M, UFOs, god i miss that ship so much, i wrote this a long time ago?, kame is oblivious, like when i was still in the kt fandom, maru pines, past jin/kame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2793305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayyyonn/pseuds/crayyyonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kamenashi believes in UFOs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've got to hide your love away

“I swear, Nakamaru.  _I saw it._ ”

Nakamaru sighed, rolling his eyes. “A UFO, Kame? Really now. You’re not saying you seriously believe in aliens?” He began to chuckle, but it died off when he noticed Kamenashi bristling in anger.

“You mean to say you think that in this HUGE galaxy that we’re in, humans are the only ones in it?” He threw his arms up in exasperation. “Are you dense?!”

Kamenashi’s eyes were wide in indignation,  _adorable_ , Nakamaru thought privately. He cleared his throat. “I’m pretty sure aliens wouldn’t want to have anything to do with us, Kame.” He reached out and tugged on Kamenashi’s arm, currently firmly crossed with a matching pout on his face. “Look, when you called me and said it was important, I didn’t think it was for this.”

He didn’t think it was possible, but Kamenashi’s lower lip stuck out even more at that as he turned his head away with a huff, lashes a dark smudge above his cheekbones. Nakamaru swallowed, dutifully quelling the flash of frustrated desire, locking it away into a corner of his mind to agonize over later. “Come on. You hungry? Let’s go get something to eat, my treat.”

At that, Kamenashi turned back to him, eyes narrowed. “You’re sure you didn’t forget your wallet this time?”

Nakamaru flushed, and eyes darting around, mumbled, “That was the one time, and it was years ago. Let it go already.”

The incident in question was indeed a few years ago, before- well,  _before_. He had called Kamenashi at Akanishi’s request since they had fought about something or other yet again, and Kamenashi being who he was, tended to throw himself into a whirlwind of work when that happens, and forget that he needed basic things like food and sleep to function. So when Akanishi had called him, petulant yet subdued, Nakamaru had texted Kamenashi and cajoled him into meeting him at Roppongi, where he knew Kamenashi’s favorite sushi restaurant was. They had had a good time, Nakamaru thought, or at least until he reached for his wallet to pay and found that it had miraculously disappeared from his pocket. He could have sworn he had left home with it, and said as much to Kamenashi, who had merely laughed and waved his credit card at the stoic waiter. He had never stopped teasing Nakamaru after that. Nakamaru didn’t mind, not really, because Kamenashi’s laughter had been noticeably lighter that day, and by the time they had parted ways, his smile had even reached his eyes.

He dug his wallet out of his pocket and dangled it in front of Kamenashi with a flourish, allowing him to snatch it from his fingers and rifle through it. Nakamaru had made sure to withdraw some cash before he came, so he had a respectable amount of money in his wallet, enough to feed them both, at least.

“See. Now let’s go.” It was getting late, and for all that he loved spending time with Kamenashi, he didn’t like the dark rings lining his eyes nor did he like the slump of his shoulders.

They ended up at a quiet little pub two blocks down the street. It was nearly empty, save for some stragglers who had been working late on a Tuesday night. Nakamaru had never been here before, but Kamenashi swore by their nachos, and Nakamaru was more than happy to just go along with whatever he wanted. He led Kamenashi to the darkest corner he could find, hoping they would be masked by the low lights enough that they wouldn’t be recognized. Not that it was a problem for him personally, but with Kamenashi around, it’s usually an eventuality, one that Nakamaru just wanted to stave off as long as he could.

When he returned to their table with nachos, fried chicken, and generously dressed fruit salad precariously balanced in his hands, Kamenashi was staring into his beer, the mug nearly half empty. There was an air of vulnerability around him, one which, no matter how often Nakamaru got to see, never fails to be horribly unsettling. He set the food on their table and slumped onto the couch beside Kamenashi with a put out groan.

“I know I said it was my treat, but that didn’t mean you could just start without me,” he complained. Grabbing his untouched drink, he downed half of it in one long swallow and sighed in satisfaction before sliding a glance at Kamenashi. His bandmate merely rolled his eyes and smirked, grabbing the basket of nachos and settling it on his lap. “Hey hang on,” Nakamaru protested. “Gimme some of that.”

Kamenashi shook his head. “Nuh-uh. You said I could call the shots tonight. These are mine.” He clutched the basket possessively, moving it out of Nakamaru’s reach.

Nakamaru pouted, then shrugged and grabbed a piece of fried chicken. “Fine, eat it all then.” He bit into his chicken with relish. “More chicken for me.” He waved the drumstick at Kamenashi, oil dribbling down his fingers, glinting in the dim lighting. Nakamaru grinned when Kamenashi scrunched up his face in disgust.

They ate companionably while making inane small talk, Nakamaru managing to snag some nachos for himself even as he kept a sharp eye on the refills of Kamenashi’s mug. Dream Boys had ended, but though Kamenashi more than deserved to let off some steam after the grueling month, that didn’t mean Nakamaru had to let him go all out about it. Everything in moderation.

It was nearly three in the morning when the inevitable happened. Nakamaru sighed in resignation when the boy slinked up to their table and leaned against the armrest of their couch, all swaying hips and sexily mussed up hair.

“You’re Kamenashi Kazuya, aren’t you?” His voice was a throaty purr, and Nakamaru resented it for the slow smile that spread on Kamenashi’s face as much as the fact that he could never get it exactly right, no matter how many times he practiced in front of the mirror.

“I am,” Kamenashi replied, eyes sweeping hotly down the boy’s body before he caught the boy’s stare and grinned.

Swallowing another sigh, Nakamaru stood. “Excuse me,” he murmured as he headed for the washroom.

It was rank in there, the harsh fluorescent light beating down unforgivingly on the grafitti that papered the walls. Turning on the taps, he splashed some water on his face, the icy cold driving away a bit of the alcohol-induced drowsiness. He braced his hands on the sink and stared into the mirror at his reflection, water dripping down his chin and staining his shirt in darkened patches.

Friend, he reminded himself firmly. Kamenashi is his friend first and foremost; he’d promised Akanishi and himself he’ll always be there for him, as a friend, nothing more. It could never be anything more. He sighed gustily, then jumped at the light touch on his arm.

“Fucking hell, Kamenashi. Warn a guy,” he snapped, and he saw Kamenashi flinch and pull back. The anger rushed away in a flash, leaving him drained and exhausted. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just tired. It’s getting late. I should head home.”

“You alright?” Kamenashi was peering into his face in concern, and Nakamaru suppressed the urge to laugh maniacally. He must have lost track of how much he had drunk while watching Kamenashi.

He ran a hand over his face. “Yeah. Yeah I’m fine. It’s been a long day.” He dredged up a grin and placed his hands on Kamenashi’s shoulders, ushering him out of the washroom. The boy was sitting at their couch, fiddling with his phone with one hand while he nibbled at the chicken in the other. Nakamaru resented that. That was his chicken.

Gesturing at the boy, he raised an eyebrow questioningly at Kamenashi, who only shrugged, nonchalant. Nakamaru knew that shrug, and he tamped down the jealousy with practiced ease. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Need a ride?” He asked, chugging down the rest of his drink. He’ll never get used to the bitterness of beer, but it could be overlooked, especially with the alcohol singing in his veins. He’s not drunk, not by a long shot, but he probably shouldn’t drive.

Kamenashi shook his head. “You shouldn’t drive,” he reprimanded.

Nakamaru shrugged, “I’m not drunk.” The boy was staring at them, eyes beady with interest, and Nakamaru looked away when he smirked. “I should go. I’ll see you on Friday.” Friday was  _Music Station_. He’d be more in control then. He grinned at Kamenashi before patting him on the shoulder in a brotherly way.

“Yeah. Friday.” Kamenashi replied. There was something in his eyes, unreadable, slightly desolate, which Nakamaru attributed to a trick of the light.

He was home within minutes, the roads blessedly empty in the small hours of the morning. With the exception of the light spilling out from underneath his sister’s door, the house was dark, and he was careful not to make any noise as he crept to the kitchen. He was drinking thirstily from the pitcher of water when his phone rang with a new text. It was a URL to a news site, and Nakamaru clicked on it in curiosity, before grinning reluctantly at the grainy, low quality picture of the night sky, dark except for a tiny white dot which could be anything. The headlines screamed  _‘ARE THEY AMONG US?’_. Nakamaru rolled his eyes at the absurdity.

His phone rang again, and he had to stifle his laugher once he’d glanced down at it, the rush of fondness nearly overwhelming. He could practically feel the smugness rolling off the screen and shook his head as he made his way to his room.

_‘Aliens, Nakamaru, told you.’_

Friday suddenly couldn’t come soon enough.


End file.
